Of Film Strips and Guitar Picks
by Angelic Prophecy
Summary: One is the musician, the one song glory. The other is the filmmaker, the witness of it all. These are a few brief glimpses into what could have been between Mark Cohen and Roger Davis / RogerMark
1. Of Guitar Lessons

**Just a little attempt at some fluffiness with my favorite non-existant Bohemian couple Mark and Roger, or as I fondly refer to them as... _Marker!_ I don't even really know why I ship them. I just don't. Don't like it, don't read it, I say!**

**I'm actually considering making this into a collection of short stories about them instead of just this one... if anyone feels like suggesting an idea to write or giving a prompt or anything like that, I'll take them - be my guest! :D**

**And I don't know if the ending makes sense with the beginning, or if Mark and Roger are in character at all... But I tried. It's just a fanfiction, what more can you expect? :L**

**Rent and Mark and Roger are the property of the late, great Jonathon Larson :D And the title of this piece was suggested to me by my very dear friend, Kirsten. :D Because she's epic at titling things.  
**

One didn't need to know very much about music to be able to tell that a certain Mark Cohen knew even less about it. He was a film person, and his knowledge of music only included what he had learned in those mandatory elementary school music classes and a two-and-a-half-week stint as a trumpet player in the school band which had abruptly ended after he dropped his trumpet down 3 flights of stairs, damaging the instrument beyond repair. Besides, it hadn't ever really interested him all that much. At least not anymore than most other things. Sure, he liked to listen to the radio, buy the occasional cassette, go to a concert every once in a blue moon, when he had the money. But anything beyond that was outside his interests, like attempting to play it. He felt that he was too clumsy and too slow a learner to ever be successful at playing any type of instrument.

All that had changed when Roger Davis had waltzed into his life, rather unbidden. They'd gone to school together, and they had honestly not paid much attention to each other. They were in different cliques – Roger in with the cool crowd, being a musician and a football player, and Mark being… Well, scrawny, nerdy Mark. Even though their mothers were close friends, they didn't get along very well. But then the two women had come up with a brilliant idea: Since Mark and Roger were both planning to go to NYU (Roger for music, Mark for film), why not have them room together and share the rent?

At first it had been difficult, but eventually they'd started to get along and finally become friends. Roger fascinated Mark, especially when he was sitting down and playing his guitar, his face etched with concentration and passion of the music flowing from the instrument, and even the frustration that came when he did something wrong. It was similar to how he must've felt and looked when he was working with his films. Mark found himself waiting impatiently on some days for Roger to pick up his guitar and the words to start streaming from his lips, the music filling their loft. It almost inspired him sometimes. And of course, Roger did have an amazing voice, he had to admit, a thought that made his cheeks and ears turn a very gentle and very embarrassing shade of pink.

One night, Mark found himself alone for the first time in months, and he wasn't exactly quite sure what to do about it. Roger had been gone for a few hours, on a date with Mimi doing God-knows-what, and Mark wasn't exactly going to ask what they had done, so he just settled for knowing that Roger wasn't home and left it at that.

So Mark was alone, and he was bored. The loft was just too quiet for his liking. Not that it was ever very noisy with Roger in it these days, and Roger wasn't around that often anyway, but at least Roger would speak occasionally, and make other noises of life. The silence just made the whole place feel empty. Mark wanted desperately to do something with his camera, but unfortunately that wasn't an option, since it was being repaired. A few days ago a piece had broken off that he needed to have professionally replaced, so that would be a week of camera-less-ness and a few hundred dollars out of his pocket to have the thing repaired. Mark was just aching for something to do without his precious camera permanently glued to his hand. He found himself wandering around the loft until he finally stopped on the couch and sat in the silence for a moment, glancing up at his side. A familiar acoustic guitar was laid out across the cushions, left there by Roger when he'd abruptly left.

For a long moment the redhead stared at the instrument, finding himself oddly tempted to pick it up and just _try_ it. After all, Roger made playing it look so easy, it couldn't possibly be that hard, right?

But then… Maybe he shouldn't. Because Roger didn't like it when other people touched his guitar, let alone pick it up and start trying to play it. Hell, he didn't even let _Mimi _touch it, so it had to be serious… But Roger wasn't here. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him. Mark would just try, put the thing back, and his roommate wouldn't even have to know.

After another moment of mental debate, Mark just decided to pick the instrument up. For a moment he held it one hand, realizing with some embarrassment that he didn't even know how to hold, let alone begin playing. Well, he could've tried to think this through. How was it that Roger held it and had the strap on? He tried to turn to his memory, hoping he'd somehow recollect a recent memory of the other man holding it, but failed, so he just shifted the thing around until it was resting on his knee, a bit uncomfortable but it looked okay. To be honest, he liked the feeling of holding it. He could understand why Roger never put it down. Even holding it made him feel mildly cool. In fact, Mark sort of just sat there for a while, enjoying the feeling of the instrument in his hands.

And that was when the door opened. So Roger was home sooner than he'd planned. Great.

Mark jumped, petrified and blushing profusely out of embarrassment because he knew that Roger was going to be so pissed off when he saw him. But he really had no time to put it down because Roger had already seen him. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, eyes widening. Mark sat in fear of finding out that he'd done the thing he wanted to do the least – piss off Roger Davis. And then something totally unexpected happened.

Roger started laughing.

Yes, Mark was sitting there, holding his best friend's guitar (which he never allowed anyone but himself to touch) awkwardly on his lap, and said best friend was laughing at him. Hard.

At first Mark was confused until finally he came to his senses and moved to set the thing down. Before he could, Roger shook his head, still laughing, and shut the door behind him, trying without much success to compose himself. Eventually he quieted down and looked at Mark with an eyebrow raised out of amusement. "What _are_ you doing?"

"I was just… I just wanted to…" Mark stammered awkwardly through a few failed starts at an explanation, biting his lip, tapping his hand against the polished wood of the guitar a few times. "This is… awkward."

"You don't know how to play it, do you?" Roger asked, though having lived with Mark for so long, he knew the answer had to be no, and Mark responded with a shake of his head, indicating that answer. The musician seemed to consider this for a moment before a smirk spread across his face. "Want me to show you how?"

"What?" Mark couldn't help that notice his voice cracked, giving a little squeak. On the inside, his heart was doing backflips and screaming 'Yes yes YES!', just because it would mean being closer to Roger somehow… Was he really that pathetic, that hopeless? He took a breath and blinked his eyes, shaking his head again. "You don't have to, it's fine…"

"Aw, c'mon, man, I'll just show you real quick, it's easy!" Now Roger was full-on grinning, a grin that made Mark's pulse skip a little beat. He really couldn't say no to that, could he?

"Okay…" He answered somewhat reluctantly, a nervous smile playing on his face, and Roger tossed his keys onto the table before sitting down on the coffee table across from Mark's spot on the sofa. He was so close that Mark could smell the cologne or whatever that was that he'd put on for his date. Mimi must've had to work tonight, he thought, or else Roger would've been downstairs with her for sure. "You're in a good mood tonight." Mark pointed out as he watched Roger fiddling with the guitar, tuning it.

"Mhm…" Roger just smiled and nodded, not saying anything for the moment as he continued attempting to tune the guitar. Blue eyes followed Roger's hands, determined not to glance anywhere near the other's face. But then abruptly the hands stopped and Mark looked at Roger to see why. Roger just sat there, smirking at Mark a little bit.

"What?" Mark asked, not moving a muscle in his body as their eyes connected. He could practically taste sparks in the air between them, but maybe that was just him getting a little bit too hopeful about things that were obviously never going to happen. Roger just shook his head and turned back to the guitar.

"Nothing… You just sounded kinda surprised when you said I was in a good mood. Is that not allowed anymore or something?"

For a moment, Mark was afraid he'd pissed the rocker off somehow, but then he realized there was a hint of amusement in his eyes and his tone, telling him that Roger was so happy, he was just joking with him now. That caused Mark to smile too and he stared down at the instrument on his lap until Roger seemed satisfied with the strings. He pulled his hands back and shrugged, nodding at Mark.

"Now you just play it," he said simply, sitting back on the coffee table and looking at Mark. Mark's gaze shifted nervously from the instrument to the man in front of him, suddenly too nervous to move. Because he was just now realizing he actually had no idea what the hell he was doing, and the person he considered to be the best guitar player in the world was just staring at him expectantly.

"I don't…" Mark bit his lip and sighed, running his fingers along the strings, barely making any sound at all. Once again, Roger Davis laughed, shaking his head.

"You're impossible, Mark. Hold onto it and get up, I'll show you how it's done." Now Roger's smirk had turned into a fully-fledged grin that seemed to go from ear to ear. Inwardly, Mark wondered if Roger had some devious kind of plan or prank to pull on him. It wouldn't have been the first time, after all. But eventually he got to his feet, still clutching the guitar, even tighter, now worried that he might drop it and dent it without the support from it sitting on his knees.

And so Mark stood there, biting his lip and looking his generally awkward self. Roger pushed himself up off the coffee tables, cracked his knuckles, and looked at Mark, his eyes sparkling.

In no way was the redhead prepared for what happened next.

Roger had circled him a time or two, and Mark had just smiled nervously, feeling a little like he was going to faint from the combination of Roger's expression and the smell of that cologne attacking his senses again. He hardly noticed the way his own hands trembled as Roger finally stopped pacing behind Mark.

Suddenly, Mark Cohen found himself surrounded by a pair of large, strong airs over his own, the larger hands resting over his pale ones. Roger was so close, Mark could feel the moist warmth of his breath on the side of his neck. He shuddered, letting out a few indistinct splutters before finally forming a sentence.

"What are you…?" His voice had gone squeaky and Roger laughed a little. Mark could practically feel the vibrations from the other's throat when he spoke.

"Relax. Your shoulders are too tensed up. Am I making you nervous?" Mark could nearly hear the teasing grin in Roger's voice.

"No," came the lying response. Roger nodded then, grasping onto Mark's hands to guide them along the strings. The first note came out of the guitar, vibrating through the intstrument, and suddenly Mark smiled broadly, like a proud child learning to ride a bicycle. One by one, Roger's hands, surprisingly soft for someone like him, lead Mark's along, playing different notes and chords, over and over, beginning to form the sound of a familiar melody - Musetta's Waltz. The repeated tune filled the Loft until finally fifteen minutes had passed and Roger had deemed the short lesson a success.

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Roger teased again, and Mark shook his head mutely, staring down at the guitar in wonder. The arms were still around his body though they had finished playing, and he stared at Roger's fingers, focusing on a few rings to distract himself. After another moment, the experience guitarist let out a breath that tickled Mark's neck. "Hey. Look at me, Cohen."

So Mark turned his head, and before he was aware of what was happening, a pair of soft, slightly chapped lips was against his own. He blinked a few times in surprise, nearly dropping the guitar but somehow managing to hold on. Slowly his eyes closed and he gently pressed himself into the kiss before Roger pulled away. The warmth of the arms surrounding him was suddenly gone, and Roger Davis stood a few feet away, looking utterly satisfied with himself.

"You know something, Mark? You actually look pretty good holding that thing," Roger smirked and gently pried the guitar away from the younger man's grip.

"What just…?" Mark stood there in confusion, his arms dropping to his sides, his blonde-red eyebrows furrowing together. "Did that just happen? Was that what I think it was?"

"Yes. And yes," Roger replied, rather cheerfully as a matter of fact. Another moment passed, and suddenly Mark smiled, his face coloring a deep red as he approached Roger, feeling suddenly bold, and repeated the act that had taken place before. Something about it felt oddly, wonderfully, impossibly good, and to his immense surprise, Roger seemed to like it too. He wasn't going to question this. He could always ask about that later, right now, he might as well just enjoy the moment. Eventually, Mark pulled back, smiling breathlessly.

"…Let's just consider that your payment for the guitar lesson?" Asked a nearly-giddy Mark, his gaze being held by a pair of green eyes that carried an all too familiar smirk.

"That was… Brave. Odd. But I think it suits you." And then Roger paused, stepping closer to Mark, taking the younger man's hand and intertwining their fingers. "And I hope you know that if that's what my payment's gonna be… I'm gonna have to start giving you guitar lessons a lot more often."

**So I think I suck at fluff. Any reviews, constructive crit, whatever you want, are appreciated! :D**


	2. Of His Smile

**Yayy, another one! These will just be a bunch of separate stories all their own, each one a little different from the other. This one is Pre-RENT, and mostly one-sided Mark/Roger. A bit of angst, in a way, but I like to think it's not completely depressing...**

**This one was inspired by a RENT music video found on YouTube which I will post a link to in my profile shortly. It's to the song Breathe (2 AM) by Anna Nalick, which is a beautiful song that I recommend listening to. Anyway, the lyrics shown below are from the second verse, and in this music video, the second verse is meant to be (or at least from the video I interpreted it as) Mark 'singing' about Roger, which just gave me the inspiration for this short little piece. The video is credited to the YouTube user kitty4cat who's made some pretty incredible videos, this one among them.  
**

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_Here in town you can tell he's been down for a while,  
But, my God, it's so beautiful when the boy smiles,  
Wanna hold him, maybe I'll just sing about it.

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_

There are a million and one reasons Mark Cohen could have for hating Roger Davis.

Roger is cocky. Roger is crude. Roger is stubborn. Roger is loud. Roger is temperamental. Roger is selfish. Roger always does what _he_ wants to do. Roger curses too much. Roger smokes. Roger has a tendency to get into fights with people. Roger treats Mark like shit a lot of the time. Roger blames the world for everything that's happened to him. Roger drinks vodka straight from the bottle and milk straight from the carton. Roger is angry. Roger is a junkie. Roger spends 99% of his time doing nothing but worrying about his smack.

But in spite of all these reasons he could have to hate his roommate, Mark Cohen does not hate Roger Davis a bit. In fact, it's quite the opposite, if he were to be honest about how he really feels. This is something new for Mark. Most of the time, Mark is detached from everything and hiding behind his camera and he's terrible about being honest when it comes to his feelings. Still, his feelings towards the suffering blonde musician are almost painfully clear to him. He's probably not supposed to feel this way because they're best friends, have been since high school, and they live together and neither of them is supposed to be interested in men, they are both very straight, and for God's sake, Mark has a girlfriend now. So what is it about Roger, the man he has every reason to detest, that makes Mark keep coming back, makes his pulse speed up and his smile brighten and his eyes light up whenever he enters the same room?

He wonders about this for a very long time, as Roger starts attempting to quit the drugs, and Mark is the only one left at his side through the nights of withdrawal and shivers and fever and pain and anger. Mark only gains more reasons to hate Roger as this goes on, as he becomes the brunt of Roger's withdrawal-caused rage, and he now sports bruises as evidence of this. Mark still isn't sure why he stays, and perhaps he'll never know the exact reason, though over the months he begins to notice things he could possibly love about Roger too.

Roger is a fighter. Roger is talented. Roger cares about Mark. Roger is smart. Roger is slowly coming back to life. Roger is kind, deep down. Roger is Mark's best friend. Roger has given Mark some of the best and most interesting experiences of his young life.

But one of the things Mark Cohen loves the most about Roger Davis is a lot simpler than all of these. It's much more tangible and real and it's something anyone can see when it appears.

In Mark's eyes, Roger has one of the most beautiful smiles in the world.

He hasn't seen it very often lately, with all that's been going on. Between losing April, discovering his HIV, and attempting to quit the drugs, Roger has little occasion or reason to smile anymore. In fact, he doesn't smile once for what must be months. The first person to get him to smile again is Mark, and he didn't even plan to make that happen.

It's just another night for the two of them. A lot of the same things that have always been happening are going on. Roger's curled on the couch under a blanket, a damp cloth on his forehead as he shivers, teeth chattering against each other, in the throes of another feverish fit of withdrawal. He's shaking and sweating and he's in so much pain he can hardly stand it. In fact, at the moment, he's about to pass out, hovering on the edge of unconsciousness. And Mark, loyal, dutiful, ever-present Mark, is right by his side, silent but there, his smaller hands grasping Roger's larger one, his little attempt at being a comfort. It's clear that the air between them is tense, as not five minutes before Roger hit Mark so hard his arm is beginning to bruise. But Roger has calmed down a little bit, and Mark is still there, ignoring the ache as whatever Roger is going through must be worse.

And then green eyes open and Roger turns his head and looks at Mark, his expression almost surprised as though he has only just now noticed the slightly-younger man's presence. Mark looks back quietly, still grasping Roger's hand, and finally the tense silence is broken by Roger's raspy, shaking voice.

"W-Why are you s-still h-here?" It's not an angry question. It sounds like Roger is genuinely curious as to why Mark hasn't left him, after all he's done and all they've been through. Mark is not sure how to respond to this question since he's been wondering the same thing himself, but suddenly, somewhere deep in his heart, he realizes he knows the answer. He's known it for a long time. It's all the same, isn't it? So Mark looks Roger in the eyes, allowing a gentle smile to tug at his lips before he quietly voices his response.

"Because I love you too damn much to leave." He finally says, his stomach squeezing a little as he waits for Roger to react. He's afraid Roger will freak out, punch him, curse at him, make Mark leave forever, but he had to get it out into the air. He couldn't leave that all bottled up. But then something surprising happens.

Roger smiles.

At first, it looked more like he was grimacing in pain from some kind of internal acke. But soon Mark sees that it's not an expression of pain at all. Through all the pain and fear and anger and God-only-knows-what-else he probably feels right now, Roger Davis is smiling, and it's the most beautiful thing Mark thinks he's ever seen in his life. Weakly, Roger squeezes Mark's hand, that gorgeous smile still gracing his cracked lips, tiredly blinks his eyes and he says "Ok..." and then his eyes shut again and the smile slowly starts to fade and he soon falls asleep fast asleep

Mark knows that Roger won't remember any of this when he wakes up. He'll be back to his old self. It was a brief exchange, a minute at the most, and Roger will probably never remember that it happened at all. But Mark decides then and there to commit that smile on Roger's face and that moment they shared to memory and look back on it forever, because it's more beautiful than anything he could ever hope to see.

There are a million and one reasons Mark Cohen could have for hating Roger Davis. But there's one reason in particular that Mark will always stay, and that's because he's waiting for the next time he'll be able to make Roger smile.

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**I'm not gonna beg, but a review would make me uber happy!**


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